One cloudy day, when the surf was highand the wind coming down from Mendocinolifted spray from the tops of the breaking wavesin misty filaments, I walkedalone into the ocean in shorts and sneakersas far as I could stand,imagining another, deeper lifebound up in this one.

Imagining one day a thousand yearsaway, a boy like me mightwander down that same path I tookhere to where the land beginsand ends, and hearing then, as I do now,a calling from that other place,would echo back in terrorand delight, until his voicebecame the sound of waterpounding rock,which was my sound, too.